Man on Fire
by xXDasXGoochXx
Summary: In Mexico City, a washed up and presently alcoholic decadent man, Gumball Weiss, is hired by Rainbow Corporation Business CEO Nicole Watterson to protect her daughter. What seems to be an easy paycheck goes horribly wrong when the biggest crime boss in Mexico: Senora Angelina Halcon sets her eyes on the Watterson . Rated M for xXDasXGoochXx. Please Review.


**A/N: This is just a pilot idea; an attempt to write a crime/action/suspense story. If it isn't popular with you guys, I'll trash it. Please enjoy and review.**

Man on Fire

By: xXDasXGoochXx

A fist slamming on the cheap wood of his front door startled him out of his alcohol induced slumber. Rising slow and precariously, He scratched his side with a free hand; the other, holding a bottle of cheap tequila. As the knock repeated he grit his teeth; already feeling the effects of a really bad hangover. Emptying the last few swigs of the alcohol, he threw the bottle hard against the opposite, peeling and water-stained wall.

"I'm coming already-shit!" he cursed, nearly tripping over one of the many empty bottles littering the crappy carpet of his cheap, cockroach infested, apartment. He managed to reach the door, flinging it open and groggily glaring at the aged, graying English mastiff in front of him. He blinked, not recognizing the tall man at first.

"St. Michael? Do you know what fucking time it is?"

Fredrick St. Michael glared; his thick arms were crossed over his burly chest. He was dressed in a colored Hawaiian shirt, tan cargo pants and brown boots. In his concealed midriff holster was a Model 27, .357 Magnum with a pearl grip. The veteran ex-SAS growled.

"It's three in the afternoon Weiss!"

Gumball glanced down at his wrist watch; he raised an eyebrow.

"So it is." He looked back up at the mercenary, "What the hell do you want?"

St. Michael pushed the protesting and intoxicated cat out of the way. He stopped at the center of the sorry excuse for an apartment; it was a single large room with a small fridge and stove off in the corner. The tiny bathroom was cut off from the rest of the room by a door. He crouched down, picking up an empty tequila bottle.

"Is this how you've been living?" Gumball shrugged, scratching his crotch and planting down on what acted as his bed, couch and dinner table. St. Michael snarled and dropped the bottle.

"Get dressed! I have an assignment for you!"

Gumball groaned, letting his head fall back over the top of his couch. St. Michael kicked the side of the patchy sofa.

"Enough of that you lazy bastard, if you're going to kill yourself, you might as well do it with a gun in your hand, not a bottle!

Gumball slowly stood, groaning, he stretched, hearing the satisfying crack of his joints. He grabbed his concealed harness off the arm of the sofa, strapping it on with ease. Dragging his feet into what could be called the kitchen, he kicked open the fridge, digging in it for a moment before pulling out his two trusty firearms: dual, custom made chrome Colt M1911's with a black DuraCoat finish. He slid the two pistols into their respective slots underneath his arms. Lastly, he grabbed his white, cotton, short-sleeve, button-up shirt, throwing it on and leaving it unbuttoned. He now looked somewhat prepared to be in public; dressed in beige cargo pants, brown boots and a wife beater.

He stopped as if forgetting something. Turning back to the open mini fridge, he snatched the black sunglasses off the top and putting them on. Smiling cheekily, he walked past the unimpressed mercenary.

"Why can't I have both?"

XDXGX

Pablo shivered even in the hot sun; his eyes glued to his worn boots, he could _feel_ her intense stare weighing his old frame down from her reclined position. He stood on a large porch, flanked by two men armed with AK-47's. Pablo was a poor, but hardworking farmer. He with his wife, Rosa, raised their five children as best they could. Times were hard; the seasons had become harsh, what few crops he could grow in the poor soil were weak. He had just barely managed to put enough food on the table for his family. So he had needed to borrow money. But what rational bank would loan a poor farmer such as him, money? None; he had been forced, with no other choice but to go to _her_. Pablo mustered up the courage to simply glance for a moment at her regal visage.

She was…Beautiful; a Golden Ornate Hawk. Her feathers varied in degrees of gold as they descended the length of her curved body. Her feathers formed a brilliant dark gold, pointed crest. The dark gold lightens to a soft yellow gold at her full, bust. Her eyes, her most beautiful feature, were mercury silver; so much like the element, her eyes were unique, but deadly. She wore a white Egyptian silk blouse that showed off her wealth and smooth stomach. She wore white Egyptian silk one piece held together above her waist with a belt of pure golden loops. She wore golden bangles, diamond earrings and white stiletto high-heels. She wore no makeup, she was Angelina Halcon.

Her sharp eyes caught his quick glance as if he had moved in slow motion. Her eyes narrowed playfully and she smirked, amused.

"Senior Mendes, you disappoint me."

He paled, beginning to shake, he stammered.

"P-please Senora Halcon, I-I just need more time….my family…we will starve if I sell anymore than usual!"

The hawk frowned, holding up a single, finely manicured, digit.

"So, you say your family will starve? Tell me senior, how many children do you have?"

"F-five, senora…the eldest is twelve."

Angelina motioned to a guard behind her. The guard opened the French colonial styled double doors. He motioned to someone inside and a few moments later Pablo's five girls were shoved onto the porch. Pablo looked quickly from the guards to Angelina; confusion and worry etched into his face.

"S-Senora-"

"-You blame your children for your inability to pay back what is owed? Excuses?" she cut him off, swiftly rising from her lounging chair; she accepted the pistol offered to her by one of her men.

"Line them up! On their knees!"

"NO! PLEASE SENORA! I-!"

Pablo's pleas died in his throat as she pulled the trigger five times. She then casually handed the pistol back, taking her place back in the chair. She waved him away a amused grin on her face.

"Now you have no excuses, Senor."

Episode End

**A/N: Well? Like it? Hate it? I need feedback! This is just a pilot episode. Nothing definite. If you guys don't like it, I won't work on it.**


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